Bedside Manner
by Lady Fae Verdicross
Summary: This story picks up where "Hotwire" left off. Here, Hotwire learns that dealing with Ratchet's bossiness isn't so bad after all. Just don't mess with his gadgets! Sexual tension/situation, but no explicit or graphic descriptions.


Hotwire rubbed her sore arm. "I've had to give so much mech fluid in the last week that I could change my name to Pincushion. How many samples do you need?"

Ratchet set yet another tube of her life essence into a cold storage unit. "Quit complaining. Science requires time and patience." He proceeded to record some foreign algorithms into the computer that for all she knew could have been the formula for time travel or baking chocolate cake.

"Well, you try being a patient patient when somebody keeps sticking you all day. Why not just take a big enough sample for five tests instead of one?"

"Because then you'd pass out and your fluid pump would go _bloop_."

Hotwire kept herself from laughing at the funny sound effect he made. She was annoyed, after all, with the medic who insisted upon pretending to be a vampire, draining the life out of her. She surveyed the other Autobots from across the control center. Bumblebee played a lobbing game with Bulkhead. "I don't see you sticking needles into Bumblebee's throat to take samples of his voice modulators."

"Modulators don't have any mech fluid. Didn't you pay attention to your science courses during training?" He gave a smug, superior-sounding laugh.

"No, I had to learn all my anatomy lessons in the Decepticon labs in Chaon."

He grew quiet. "Yes, well, Autobot science is superior to Decepticon tinkerings."

Hotwire gave him a dirty look when he turned his back. Ratchet just didn't get it. The bot had no concept of being personable or having sympathy. Not that she was looking for either. Still, he could try to be something less…robotic.

She stood up from her seat on the bench near the stairwell and walked to the exit. Passing Optimus Prime, she realized he had heard everything that transpired between her and Ratchet.

"Hotwire, I need to have a word with you."

Uh-oh. She felt like what the human children Jack, Miko, and Raf described, a student being sent to the principal's office. "Am I in trouble?"

Optimus lowered his voice. "There appears to be ongoing conflict between you and Ratchet. Has he done anything to offend you?"

"You mean, like today?" Hotwire laughed ruefully. Optimus merely waited for her to finish. The Autobot leader appeared to have no appreciation of sarcastic humor.

"Ratchet is a first-class physician. On Cybertron, he ranked as one of the top Autobot scientists. His methods can be trusted."

"His bedside manner is terrible. What's with the snarky attitude?"

"Ratchet can be… difficult to get to know at first, but he is a most loyal friend. He's seen millennia of war and just as many casualties."

Hotwire sighed. "With all due respect, Optimus, so have you, but you don't treat everyone like undercarriage rust. Ratchet is so arrogant. I have flash bombs with a longer fuse than him."

"Our medic does display a certain temperament at times, but have you not done the same, Hotwire? Have you not goaded and tried him with your own sharp words?"

She looked down at her feet. "I get tired of being a lab rat. Look, I know you've both been friends forever, but how do you deal with-with- you know what I mean."

Optimus spared a glance at Ratchet before responding. "Hotwire, I want you to try this experiment. Instead of reacting viscerally to Ratchet's comments, approach them from an inquisitive angle. Ask him why he thinks a specific way."

Hotwire grumbled. "If he's been at it for this long, I doubt even he knows why."

"And put aside your own snarkiness." He showed the tiniest hint of a smile before leaving. It wasn't unheard of for Optimus Prime to display a sense of humor after all.

The weeks went by, and Hotwire wondered exactly how much of her mech fluid went to Ratchet's growing collection. She peered at the cold storage unit in the lab, focusing on it to occupy her mind while Ratchet listened to her fluid pump rate.

"Sounds strong today," he declared, moving the stethoscope over her chest. "A bit fast. Relax."

How could she, when he was touching her? She tried not to look at his hands, because she actually liked them when he wasn't using them to jab her with needles and hammers and whatnot. They were strong and warm.

His right hand brushed against her as he lowered the stethoscope to the center of her chest. Maybe he was operating in standard procedure, but her thoughts were anything but clinical.

"How do you feel today?"

She looked him in the baby blues. "Like I always do. Hemmed in. I need to get out."

"Not until I give you clearance." He put the stethoscope away and moved the tool cart over to the wall. "After that attack you had sneaking onboard the _Nemesis_, we cannot take any chances until I find a way to stabilize your fluid pump for combatives."

His tone sounded almost protective. Hotwire got a warm sensation in the middle of her torso. Was she growing on him, or was he just happy to have a new resident guinea pig to conduct experiments on? Hotwire scolded herself for thinking so negatively. Ratchet wasn't all mad scientist. His strongly-held opinions could be irritating, but they were based on a deep discernment between right and wrong. At least she could trust him to do no more to her than was medically necessary.

And what's more, he did find her attractive. She remembered the first time he stumbled on his words when trying to console her about her scars from the Decepticon experiments. Ratchet was awkward, but cute-awkward.

She dangled her legs over the gurney. "How will you figure on stabilizing me?"

Ratchet went to the large screen of the computer monitor and brought up a diagram of what appeared to be slender stints. "I'm working on a series of vein catheters that will respond to signals emitting from your core processor. They should regulate your mech fluid levels based on body exertion and keep the veins from collapsing. In theory."

Hotwire cut through the medical gibberish. "So, will you be cutting open my chest or my head?"

He turned around slowly. "Don't be so dramatic. I won't cut you. I'll only be making a set of small incisions along the periphery of your fluid pump, where the major veins are located."

"Please show me."

He huffed. "I don't have a diagram or cross section model of a fluid pump lying around."

Hotwire's mech fluid raced as she envisioned her chest cavity being splayed open for dissection. A new memory surfaced of Chaon again. Knives and rotary saws coming at her from four directions. Whirring blades deafening her hearing receptors. She couldn't scream.

"Hotwire, you're phasing out again."

"What?" Her mind returned to the present, where she found Ratchet propping her up by the arms. His reassuring image gradually became clear as the frightening vision faded back into the stored files of her core processor.

"You were having a panic attack, accompanied by hallucinations."

She shivered as the adrenaline siphoned off in her body. "Did I say anything foolish?"

One corner of his mouth went up. "From the usual? No, but if you did, your secret's safe with me."

"I feel so at ease now." Hotwire tensed her muscles to stop herself from shaking. "I guess I got carried away when you said you were going to make incisions in my chest."

"Yes, you did. I'm not a Decepticon butcher posing as a scientist. I've performed surgeries before."

"But not like this."

"You will not die under my watch."

"Promise?"

Ratchet flattened his lips in visible exasperation. Not wanting to hear a snappy remark, Hotwire reversed course promptly. "I'm sorry, Ratchet. Look, I'm scared, okay? Just one big mess of neurotransmitters. If you've lived like me, you never know what's going to happen from day to day."

"But you're not in Iacon City anymore. You have to realize that."

Hotwire nodded. "I know you don't have a diagram of a fluid pump, but can't you just point to where you're going to operate?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to get smelling salts first in case you pass out?"

"Ha. Ha."

Ratchet traced his finger over the upper left quadrant of her chest plate. "As you know, this is where your fluid pump's located. I will be making incisions and inserting catheters at two places below the arteries here." He touched the referred areas. "And here." His finger came to rest on a spot several inches below her fluid pump.

Hotwire felt a tingly sensation in each of the areas he touched her. Her core temperature rose beneath the armor. "Will you be using a scalpel or rotary saw to make the incisions?"

"A laser. What do you think we are, humans?"

She chuckled at the indignant look on his face. "Ok. Easy. Thanks for answering my questions. I feel somewhat better." She slid off the examining table.

"Hotwire."

He said her name with such gentleness. Surprised, she turned and stared up at him. "Yes?"

"Are you going back to your sleeping quarters?"

Hotwire didn't know how to respond. Her body was going all tingly again. Her mind raced with enticing thoughts as she took in the sight of his tall, well-built form. Did he hear what he just asked? For a moment, she thought her fluid pump would burst out of her chest and spill onto the floor. "Yes," she answered finally.

"Wait a moment." Ratchet practically disappeared under the examining table.

Hotwire was curious. What was he bringing with him? She edged closer to the table. He emerged with that strange machine with all its tubes spilling from his arms.

"Drop this off in the supply vault on your way, would you? Thanks."

"Yeah." Crestfallen, she accepted the weird contraption from him and left the lab before he could see her disappointed face.

She thought herself foolish for imagining that Ratchet would take even the slightest interest. There weren't many who wanted a beat-up number tossed out of the Decepticon waste disposal unit. So what if he did show a passing attraction for her earlier? He since returned to his old cerebral scientific self. He probably forgot he even said anything before.

Hotwire balanced the machine in one arm as she entered the combination to the storage vault. She was always good at kidding herself. Whatever she thought was there in Ratchet could be nothing more than scientific curiosity. With the multiple experimentations done on her body, she was a researcher's dream, not a hot femme bot.

The door to the storage vault was heavy. Hotwire pushed against it with her shoulder until she gained entry. The interior was a lead-lined cavern capable of withstanding a nuclear detonation. Ratchet kept all the Energon and spare parts there, safely tucked away.

Where did the tubal do-hickey go?

Hotwire stepped over boxes stacked in the middle of the floor. Her foot caught on one of them. She threw out her hands for balance. The machine clamored like a steel drum as it fell from her hands.

"What'd you do?" Ratchet called from outside the hallway. Hotwire scrambled to pick up the machine. It was dented in several places. The tubing fell off the contraption, rolling across the floor in three directions.

"Scrap!" She cursed.

Ratchet's footsteps grew closer and closer. The medic entered as she got a hold of the tubes. "What'd you break?"

"Nothing. Everything is fine."

"My Energon multiple dispensing modulator!" He ran up to the machine in her arms as though it were a small child. "It was in its last testing stages. Hotwire, I needed that!"

"It's not broken. You just need to reattach these do-hickeys." She tried to refasten the tubes to their correct components, but to no avail.

Ratchet threw up his hands and sighed gruffly. "Oh, leave it alone."

"Fine. I'm setting it up here." Hotwire climbed the ladder next to a shelf and placed the modulator at the very top. "Now no one can get to Ratchet's precious machine."

"Hotwire, I–"

She cut him off, heated. "You know, if you treated your patients the same way you did your toys, you'd be the best medic in seven galaxies."

"I'd still say I'm pretty good."

"Of course. You're your number one fan, but you know what? Your bedside manner sucks tailpipe!"

Hotwire lifted her foot from the ladder rung to climb down. She miscalculated the next step and her leg dangled in mid-air. The ladder wobbled as she grappled for a foothold.

Ratchet steadied the ladder with one hand, catching her foot with the other. "I've got you."

She climbed down the rest of the way. Ratchet's hand never left her body. On the second to last rung, he lifted her away from the ladder.

"Thanks." She tried to hide her chagrin by turning away, though he was very visible from the corner of her eye.

"Is my bedside manner really that bad?"

"It's pretty much nonexistent."

"What do you suggest I do?"

Surprised that he asked for advice, she faced him and tilted her head in thought. "I don't know. Show you care."

"Like this?" He leaned in and kissed her.

"Ratchet!" She jerked backwards, knocking her head on a shelf. Arcing pain hammered through her skull. Tiny golden stars filled her line of vision. Ratchet cradled her head between his hands and kissed her a second time. She moaned in a mix of pain and pleasure as his lips moved over hers slowly. Seductively.

"How was that?" He gave attention to the corner of her mouth, nibbling at the sensitive area.

"You're good, but kissing doesn't make it any better. My head still hurts."

"I was showing you that I care." He drew her against the length of his body, trailing his fingers in along her waist and out again to the curvature of her hips.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered. "No, you were showing me that you want to interface."

"Then I would have done something else."

"Like what?"

He shifted his gaze to the entrance. "I'll have to close the door first."

Hotwire's fluid pump fluttered and this time, she knew it wasn't due to faulty pipes. Mech fluid traveled within, heating her lower regions. The pleasure center there sent signals to her core processor. She awakened to a specific need that only Ratchet could fulfill.

"Make sure it's locked." She temporarily left his arms so he could ensure the room's privacy. When he returned, she evaded him with playful steps, darting behind the shelves. "Now that I have a private viewing, how does my doctor plan on holding my attention?"

He gave her a secret, almost devious smile. "Tightly, as I will the rest of you."

Before she could get away, he pulled her down to the floor with him.


End file.
